


Confessing Isn’t Always a Crime (Except When It Is)

by cleverqueen



Series: Coldwave Week 2017 [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 1991, ColdWave Week 2017, Crimes & Criminals, Criminal husbands, Grand Gestures, M/M, Pre-Series, slew of minor characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleverqueen/pseuds/cleverqueen
Summary: Day 1: Early LivesMick decides he must perform some grand gesture to prove his devotion and (hopefully) win Len’s love in return. He’s got the perfect idea: running a job in Len’s style. Len, meanwhile, is in prison; all he can do is hope for news and cross his fingers that Mick doesn’t get hurt.





	Confessing Isn’t Always a Crime (Except When It Is)

**Author's Note:**

> EDITED 24-Nov-2017: Fixed some mixed pronouns. (Thanks for catching those, ajremix!)
> 
> On the writing style: I’ve tried to write this one like Mick talks. In some places, it may become difficult to read. (New game: Name That Antecedent!) As always, I apologize for the lack of beta.
> 
> On the content: I’ve never been in prison. I did no research (except on visitation rights so that Lisa could mock Mick). This makes my story more Hollywood-perfect, right?

_There’s this guy. His name is Len, and this is his kind of job. If I pull it off, he’ll know how sorry I am. (I don’t even remember about what.) Maybe we’ll get back together. Maybe we’ll get_ married _. Hey, a guy can dream._

First step: making sure his buddy heard about Mick’s plan. That was why he’d invited little Lisa Snart to meet him at Dunkin’ Donuts after school. Her daddy wouldn’t notice, and her brother was in Iron Heights. He ordered her coconut-crusted chocolate, got himself a coffee and two jelly filled. Settled in to wait.

He didn’t wait long. She slid into the booth opposite him and lifted her prize off the table like a wallet from a pocket. Slick, silent. Well trained. She was barely half his size, but she took up her section of the booth like she owned it. Her brother was like that too.

She bit down and gave him a crumb-filled smile. Inviting him to divulge everything he knew. Since that was why he asked her here, he did.

“I’m running a job,” he said. “It’s in your brother’s style. To make a statement.”

She bit down again, eyes never leaving his face. He took it as a sign to continue.

“To let him know how sorry I am.” Mick couldn’t remember why they split anymore, but it was months prior to Len getting nabbed. “Maybe get back together.” His life was simpler when he was with Len... and more exciting. Could be the control over his pyromania, could be the sense of alienation when he was alone. That’s what his shrink said, anyway.

What he’d _really_ like? To lock it all down and make it hard for Len to leave him. Hard for Mick to leave Len too. No more stupid misunderstandings and fights that didn’t matter a few months later. “If I do good enough, maybe we’ll even get married.” _There’s a dream._ “Nah, he’s probably found somebody else already.” They could still be criminal partners. That came first. And the friendship. And the living together. What was a little romance between friends?

Lisa swallowed hard and put her donut on the takeaway bag she’d used as a placemat. “Found someone else,” she echoed. “In _prison_?”

If anyone could form a lasting relationship in prison, it was Snart. Hadn’t he tied Mick to him during their time in juvie? 

Didn’t matter. The important part was this: “Tell him when you go to visit?”

She put her head in her hands and shook it melodramatically. When she looked up a few crumbs stuck in her frizzing hairline. “You want me to tell Lenny that you’re doing a job in his style as... tribute? When I see him next?”

That sounded about right. He nodded.

“I’m _eleven_ , Mickey.” She stressed the number like it meant something. “I only visit when a guardian takes me. If you’re not going to go yourself—”

“He’s not seeing me right now. Or he wasn’t. Not fair to force it when he’s stuck in the can.”

“—then I only get to go with my dad. Do you _want_ him to hear about this?”

Mick shrugged. Whether Daddy Snart knew Mick’s business didn’t matter. He just needed Teenage Snart to understand what’d be going down.

Lisa sighed and took a bite from her donut. No, from Mick’s donut. Raspberry jelly oozed out the back and onto the table. “Yeah, okay,” she said.

***

_Len_

Len sat across from his little sister, a glass wall and an ocean of freedom between them. “Are you keeping up with your schoolwork? Eating right? Listening to all my albums?” he teased her.

She rolled her eyes. “And looking out for _your_ friends.”

Apparently, Mick was doing a job in his honor. It was an interesting idea, but someone really ought to explain that Mick didn’t need to impress Len by _being_ Len. He was Mick’s partner because Mick was _Mick._

“Keep me updated,” Len requested.

Lisa rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, sure. If I can get in here by myself more than once.”

As if mentioning it had summoned a harried guard, a man in blue polyester interrupted their conversation to ask where Lisa’s guardian was.

Lisa stood and left the receiver on the desk in front of her. “Whatever,” she said before she saw herself out.

Len shrugged at his own escort and returned to his cell, wondering how Mick’s job was going. It was a welcome distraction from his usual worries of getting shanked in the kitchen line and whether Lisa was safe.

***

_Mick_

The door to Mick’s warehouse base squeaked open and slammed shut. Mick looked up from tinkering with his machine gun as three invited criminals sauntered in. Mick knew these three from juvie, a blessing and a curse. 

Mick had never run a crew. Oh, he’d helped Snart pick guys and check bonafides. He’d played enforcer for plenty of bosses. 

He hadn’t liked _half_ the people he’d worked with before. Meant his judgement was suspect when it came to pulling a group together. Still, three people that he knew and liked would be okay. He hoped so.

“Hey, boss,” said a woman in redder lipstick than Dolly Parton’s.

 _Boss._ He liked that. Not for himself, but maybe for Snart when they teamed back up again. “We wait for the rest,” Mick said, and motioned them to a couch he’d set up that morning. Barely stained, right next to a buzzing space heater. 

Her red mouth turned down at the corners. Not used to Mick being anything but friendly. Usually, he’d’ve folded her into a bear hug or socked her in the arm. 

But he wasn’t playing Mick right now.

Today, he was starting on something bigger. He was the boss. Running a job in Snart’s style while Snart was in Iron Heights. Mick had to be cool.

After five minutes, all seven handpicked crooks loitered in Mick’s warehouse. From the juvie crowd, there was Sheila, the lipstick-wearing electronics expert with a quick trigger finger; Alex, a lockpick of indeterminate gender; and Ian, a wheels man ever since he was thirteen. In the older crew, Rachel had white streaked hair and wore a rappelling rig even to a meeting like this; Cecil, another wheels man, had a British accent that faded in and out; Butler had been boosting cars for seven years since getting let go from the Jaguar plant in the downturn; and Young had even more muscles than Mick himself.

Butler sniffed at Rachel. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Rachel raised unimpressed eyebrows. “I’m doing a _job_ ,” she said. “I’m not too stuffy to work with kids.”

Sheila growled at that, and Ian threw his legs across her lap to hold her down. 

Alex stood up from the couch that the teens had claimed and offered to their elders _oh-so-politely_ , “Do you need to sit?”

Rachel and Cecil laughed, more than able to take a joke about giving up a seat on the bus to senior citizens. 

Butler didn’t take it so well. “And what exactly are you supposed to be?” 

“Come again,” said Alex.

Mick hadn’t even spoken yet, and things were already going badly.

Butler waved a dismissive hand at Alex’s ensemble—kilt and combat boots; button front shirt and blue eyeliner. “Are you a boy or a girl? Or something else? Punk, perhaps?”

“I’m a thief,” said Alex.

Sheila piped up, “A damn good one, too. We met in juvie.”

Butler’s nose went up. “Which only proves you got caught.”

“Excuse me,” Mick whispered. He had to stay quiet. Stay calm and cool. If Snart were here, _he_ wouldn’t yell over these guys until everybody shut up. He’d whisper, and they’d all be so desperate to hear him that they’d do what he wanted. Mick just had to do that. So he kept his voice low. “We’re all here to do a job, not to fight with each other.”

Alex puffed up with anger. “Not like _you_ have the cleanest record I’ve ever seen,” Alex bit back at Butler.

Butler turned to Mick. Finally, someone paying attention. “I don’t work with kids and women and... whatever _that_ is.” He jerked a thumb at Alex for that last.

No one was listening. No one cared about the job. No one was working together. Objectively, they were all talented. Subjectively, Mick didn’t like some of them. Mick pressed his lips together and said nothing.

Butler huffed. “I’m leaving,” he said.

And Mick discharged his freshly cleaned machine gun right in Butler’s back.

Mick’s heart raced faster than the _rat-a-tat._ His ears rang with explosions and blood-rush. He’d never killed a man before. _And then there were six._ A giggle built in his throat. Got swallowed down. _No, no, no._ He was losing it. Butler’s blood trickled onto the concrete floor. 

Mick had to keep it cool. Had to be calm. He was Snart right now, and Snart wouldn’t let anyone walk away. Wouldn’t worry about gunning down a guy in cold blood. _Couldn’t be seen scrabbling at the body, checking for proof of life._

“Anyone else want out?” Mick asked. 

They all eyed him like he was crazier than if he’d set the couch on fire. But they listened when he laid out the target and the preparation plans. 

They didn’t go out to Saints afterward for beer. 

On reflection, Len usually skipped the beer-and-bonding sessions unless Mick purposely invited him. And then Snart sat alone. Mick’d have to fix that in the future.

***

_Len_

Weeks had passed since Lisa’s last visit, and Len had hit the point where he would’ve started a fight with a guard if it’d get him the tiniest bit of news from the outside. _Maybe I should break out of prison and lend Mick a hand._ He eyed the distance from the yard to the fence for the millionth time since coming to Iron Heights. 

He only had a week left on his sentence, but he could get out if he had to. If Mick needed him to. The best path wasn’t through the yard, of course. It was down through the furnace room, following the laundry exhaust pipes. _He’s working on *my* present. I should get to join the game if I want to._

One week. He could hug his sister in a week. He could find out how the job had gone in a week. He could see Mick in a week and find a way to thank him that didn’t imply Mick would be in charge of their partnership from now on.

***

_Mick_

Mick had grown attached to his stopwatch. Seiko, silver, scuffed. Kept him on task. He tucked it into his pocket when his crew trickled to the meetup point out near the auto mall. Once, he’d’ve tossed it in the air. Once, he’d’ve played with Zippo instead of Seiko.

Once, he’d’ve left the planning to others.

“Here’s tonight’s plan,” Mick said in a low whisper. “We’re gonna time stuff.”

Everyone nodded and got to work. Under the streetlights, they walked the outside of the Jaguar dealership. Timed the tip-toe between the entrances. Timed Rachel getting into and out of her rig. Threw a rock at a window and timed the pause until the alarms went off, till the police showed up.

After they’d run away—sirens fading into background—Cecil asked, “Are we going to actually practice the stealing?”

Sheila asked, “How long does it take to break the door locks?”

Rachel hummed. “I’m sure our leader has it all in hand.” 

Mick grumbled and tried to look like he had everything under control. He knew Rachel’s faith was misplaced. So many details! Usually, he didn’t deal with these problems. He helped pick the crews. He set things on fire. He made sure no one got hurt who wasn’t meant to. What did he know about lockpicking or checking the CCTV hardware?

He’d better learn. Fast.

***

_Len_

_Another day, another prison visitor._ Len wished he could be as blasé as that phrase implied, but so far his little sister had been the only good one. Otherwise, Lewis had shown up once to threaten him into keeping quiet and helping solidify a Santini scion’s yard power.

Lewis thought he could make Len do anything. He thought Len owed him. For Lisa’s safety and wellbeing, for feeding him during his childhood, for giving him driving lessons. Lewis wasn’t a father in order to be a good parent. All his gifts came with strings attached.

Len’s right hand clenched into a fist. His left hand clutched the phone receiver. 

Thankfully, this day’s visitor wasn’t Lewis wanting more payback. Today, Lisa—perfect, tiny Lisa—was sooooo unimpressed with Len’s criminal partner and couldn’t wait to tell him all about it.

“Mick is an idiot,” Lisa informed him. And she told him why.

It sounded more like he just wasn’t meant to do a job in Len’s style. There were so many ways Mick’s job could go wrong, so many angles he hadn’t covered. “He’s going to get arrested at this rate,” Len said.

“He is!” Lisa agreed. She narrowed her eyes like she could see Len’s desire to go fix all Mick’s little slips. “Don’t you dare help him.”

***

_Mick_

Mick’s crew was getting antsy. But he knew how to fix that. They had to bond, get their morale up. He couldn’t take them for drinks. (They weren’t his friends, this time around.) He wouldn’t take them on a practice job. (Len would never have stood for that.)

Instead, he used the city blueprints to make a mockup of the place they were gonna knock over. He reproduced the floorplan in cinderblock pony walls inside his warehouse. Instead of cars, he had cardboard contraband.

Dirty daylight streamed in when Young entered, first of the six. The muscle man looked over the flimsy setup in the glow of a single table lamp—meant to simulate streetlight—and shook his head. Scratched his ear. 

Mick wanted to ask where he’d gone wrong. Wondered whether Young even talked. Instead, he picked up his Seiko, reset the timer, and waited for the next person to walk in the door. How long would it take?

Young flopped on the couch and stared off into nothing.

***

_Len_

Four days from the end of his sentence, Len got a postcard in the mail. It was a car racing team in Florida, posing around their winning Jaguar XJR-12. Len fiddled with the postcard before stuffing it under his mattress. 

Lewis had given Len his first car. It wasn’t a Jag or a racer, but it was enough to get him to school and the grocery store. Enough to drive as his dad’s getaway, whether Len wanted to commit a crime or not. Enough to get him yelled at for stripping old gears, with Lisa’s food budget cut as Len’s punishment. 

Every gift from Lewis put Len further in debt. They were never worth it.

But Mick had never wanted more than to give him things. Mick had saved Len’s life when they first met and never asked for more than Len to keep on living. He’d brought an explosives expert to a meet, and not minded when Len refused to work with her. 

Mick’s gifts didn’t come with strings.

...unless Mick was just saving up until he could drop a giant obligation on an unsuspecting Len. Len crawled under his single blanket and hid from the very thought. 

***

_Mick_

Mick should’ve been grateful for Young’s silent disapproval. 

Half his crew walked in, then walked back out again.

So much for morale-building.

***

_Len_

There was only one corrections officer in the cafeteria, and plenty of food fighting criminals. This fight would be going on until his backup arrived. At least five minutes and forty two seconds.

Len picked his meal tray up before it could get knocked off the table.

Backup. Mick used to be Len’s backup, but one of them was in here and the other outside. Mick hadn’t done a stint in at Iron Heights yet. Maybe he never would... if he was careful, if he’d groomed a fall guy like Lewis had.

Len was starting to think their partnership was all a big con on Mick’s part. Why was Mick planning giant gestures if not because he wanted more from Len than Len was willing to give? All Len knew was: he wanted to be with Mick like they’d always been, in trust and in perfect agreement on all the major topics. The Mick he wanted at his side wouldn’t _need_ to hold anything over his head, because Len would give it gladly.

Around him, inmates roared approval as a huge cabbage flew from table to table before _thunk_ ing against an officer’s riot shield. _Where did they even get that?_

Len took a dainty bite of his toast, balled up the remainder, and spiked it across the room into the Santini scion’s cold coffee. _Take that!_ Petty revenge was the best kind.

A car would be a strange gift too, which added to the likelihood that Mick was in this for underhanded reasons. Len didn’t drive, and Mick knew that. But did Mick know _why_ he didn’t drive? 

Len sighed. Maybe he was over thinking things. Without Mick around to pull him out of neurotic thought-spirals, he could fall into a dangerous trap of his own making. What he needed was a distraction. He could work out his feelings as a background process. 

Cold orange juice whooshed down Len’s neck and into his underwear. _Distraction, indeed._

***

_Mick_

“Why’re you doing this?” Sheila asked Mick in the cold warehouse. She’d stopped in to deliver donuts and, apparently, to pump him for information.

“Cars. Money. Everybody wins,” Mick said. The space heater coil in his hands needed cleaning. He could make it run again, no problem.

She blew a loud breath and flopped onto the couch. “No, why are you acting all snooty and perfectionist-y? It’s not like the Mick Rory I _know and love_.” She said the phrase ‘know and love’ in a cutesy sing-song, like it was a joke. But she _did_ know him. Love was something else... Love was...

“There’s this guy,” Mick said, unsure how to open the topic other than to sound like a teenage girl. He looked up at her, nervous. No telling how she’d react to that. Prison friends made for relationships that weren’t so easy outside the cage.

Sheila’s eyes widened then scrunched shut, and her mouth dipped down. She grabbed a pillow off the couch and hugged it to her chest. When she opened her eyes again, her lips wore a too-big grin. “A guy, huh?” She leaned forward and teased. “Tell me more, tell me more.”

 _Oh, Sheila._ She’d been interested in Mick, and he hadn’t even noticed. He’d make it up to her. He’d start by not noticing her disappointment, let her be his friend. His wingman.

“His name is Len, and this is _his_ kind of job.”

***

_Len_

Len had a visitor again, and it wasn’t Lisa with an update on Mick’s dedicated job. Two days to release, and he’d never been so popular. 

“You don’t know me,” said the older woman across from him. She wore all black, had a white streak in her hair, and fiddled with her waistband like it was missing something. She probably usually wore a belt or other jewelry. “I’m _friends_ with your boy.”

The way she emphasized it, he understood. This was someone from Mick’s crew. But why would she come here? Had Mick told everyone that he was working in Len’s style, for Len’s benefit? Did she want advice?

“I don’t have a _boy_ ,” Len drawled. “I’m no one’s father.”

He expected her to lean back and banter along with him. Instead, she snarled and surged so close to the glass that the guard had to warn her back. “That boy is madly in love with you,” she said; plainly, like an attack. “You can’t deny that.”

Len’s fingers tingled around the phone receiver. To just _say_ that... He shook his head. _Unlikely._ “He’s doing fine without me.”

“He’s struggling to live his life in a way you’d approve!” She stabbed her finger into the glass (and had to wave off the guard again). 

What an idea! As if Len would disapprove of Mick’s usual manner. They’d lived together, worked together, and been through juvie together. If Len hadn’t liked Mick as he was, he’d have ditched him long ago. “We’re just friends.”

“He is. In love. With you,” she said again. 

Len couldn’t ignore her statement this time. “You’re guessing,” he said, sure he was right. “Has he told you that in those exact words?”

“Yes.”

Len dropped the receiver. _What?_ His chest pounded. _Mick isn’t the lying kind, not about things like this._ Which meant it was true. Mick _loved_ him, and Len... Len chose Mick above and beyond all others (besides Lisa) always. _That_ meant something too. He picked the received back up with both hands. “Oh,” he said.

Finally getting the reaction she expected, the woman relaxed in her visitor chair. “He’s ridiculous about you,” she gossiped. “What kind of person needs a copycat as their grand romantic gesture?” 

Her face invited him to agree that Mick’s behavior was over the top, but Len couldn’t make his own fit into the corresponding shapes. Mick’s choice was... heartwarming, really. Len hugged an arm around himself. 

She snorted. “Apparently, you do,” she said wryly.

He gave her an apologetic shrug. “Good luck with my present,” he said.

***

_Mick_

When the appointed day came, Mick was down to three accomplices. Sheila, Alex, Rachel.

Ian had a family emergency. Cecil faded away. Young broke his arm (bad luck for the muscle). 

Mick gathered his tiny crew onto the bus (no need for them to leave a car behind). “We’re ready for this. Just like we practiced.” It wasn’t his best pre-game speech, but it was short and sensible. Len would approve.

Sheila patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. Like Mick was worried.

“We’re gonna get your man,” said Alex.

“If he doesn’t appreciate you after this, I’ll give him another talking to,” agreed Rachel.

 _Another?_ Mick’s remaining crew were all unexpectedly invested in his relationship problems. “Better appreciate the shiny new car I’m picking him up in,” Mick said, playing along. Was that too much? Should he be more serious on the night of the job? Too late to change it.

The thieves smiled. Sheila patted his shoulder again.

Mick pulled the cord. “This is our stop.”

They gathered their gear and grinned, feral, at one another. No stopping the job now.

***

_Len_

Just before lights out, Len dug beneath his mattress for the XJR-12 postcard. Tonight was the night. Mick would be doing his job, putting his life and reputation on the line in order to show Len he was loved. 

When Len got out of here tomorrow, he was going to track down his partner and find a way to let Mick know his feelings were returned. They’d be together forever, just like they’d planned, but as more than criminal partners and best friends. More than family. Love and trust would mix together, and they’d kiss and hold hands and maybe more when Len was ready to show Mick his scrawny naked body and believe that Mick wouldn’t laugh. 

Len was going to do it. Mick _wouldn’t_ laugh. Mick loved him... so long as that visitor woman was right. 

Len would have to read the situation before he said or did anything. 

He ran a finger over the race car on the postcard one last time, and the lights snapped out for the evening. Hidden by the shuffling sounds of inmates squirming into their beds, Len stuffed the postcard down his shorts. He’d be out tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to leave any evidence behind.

***

_Mick_

It went smoothly at first, all according to Mick’s countdowns. He tip-toed from door to door. Sheila turned off the cameras. Rachel got them all inside.

But then there was a guard out of place. Not at the back loading dock, but inside with the cars and the sales computers.

Mick threw his Seiko into a wall. He couldn’t just snuff the guy. That was the thing that got Len in jail. 

He could see Alex, slouched down inside a hotwired XJS. Rachel blended almost too well into a corner, a frozen black statue. Sheila hadn’t come inside yet, and she was gonna walk right into the situation with the guard looking on.

Mick was gonna have to distract him. 

If movies had taught him anything, it was that security guards were easily seduced. So he put on his most alluring pout. He shrugged off his army camouflage jacket to reveal a ribbed tank top and strong shoulders underneath. He slouched his black pants down low and sucked in his belly. _Right then._

Mick slunk out of his corner, oozing sexiness as best he could. “I’ve been watching you,” he said in a low voice. He’d had a dream once, that Len would say something like that to him. Instead, here he was, making a dramatic gesture. This was more Len’s style anyway. Even if Len would never seduce a _cop_.

“Who’re you?” the guard demanded. He pulled a nightstick out of his pants.

 _Is that a weapon in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?_ Mick licked his lips and kept his seductive smile in place. _No laughing, Mickey._

“I’ve been hoping you’d notice me too,” Mick said, breathy. He twisted his fingers in his belt loops, subtly dragging his pants down even further to show off a hip bone. It was a vulnerable position. He couldn’t reach a gun, might trip over himself at any moment.

It did the trick. The watchman stowed his nightstick and beckoned Mick closer. “Can’t think how I missed someone like you.”

Mick looked down for the express purpose of looking up through his lashes at the mark. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel still shaking, now with inaudible laughter. Her teeth were bared and she leaned against the wall for support. Mick grinned at her, let the guard think it was pleasure at their scintillating conversation.

Now chest-to-chest, Mick walked his fingertips up the man’s shirt buttons. “There’s just one thing I want to do,” he said.

“Anything you like, baby,” breathed the watchman.

And Mick knocked the guy out. Louder, he said, “All right, guys. Time to get out of here.”

His crew converged on him. Back-slapping and mock-punching brought them together until Mick threw the nightstick into a window, breaking it. Alarms screamed, and there was one easy way to deal with that:

Set off more alarms.

Mick lit a fire—his first in weeks—and everything inside him relaxed. Sprinklers went off, dousing them all. More alarms joined the security wailings.

“Mick!” yelled his crewmates, in varying levels of annoyance.

He only laughed into the night. Water streamed into his eyes and mouth. His heart pumped in concert with the electric screeching in his ears. “Ah, I’ve missed this,” he boomed to the cars and computers. “Let’s go.”

In seconds, he had the keys for a shiny silver convertible. Whooping his victory, Mick led his four-car convoy into the night. 

They passed police vehicles, fire trucks, and ambulances coming the other way. With a multi-agency fight over who got to go in first, no one would even think of coming for Mick until long after he’d stuck a fake license plate on this beauty. 

He’d done it! And if he’d leaned more towards chaos and people-reading at the end, well... Len would understand. 

***

_Len_

The sun rose low in the autumn sky, casting a sepia glow over Iron Heights. Len squinted into it as he sauntered out the front gates, leaving their barbed wire behind. He’d seen what the prison had to offer—work details and lowest-bidder meals, watching his back for a shiv and wondering at motives.

No more. He’d made it to the dusty pavement out front.

Until next time.

The sunlight bounced off a single car idling out front. It was a top-down convertible, blue-grey and stretched long. It had rounded squares for headlights and wheel wells that looked like someone had filed the edges off a little too enthusiastically. _Jaguar._

A tall, lanky man leaned on the rear panels, and he kicked off when Len got close. 

“Hello, Mick,” Len said in a drawl. He could hear the shake in his voice. Of course he’d expected Mick to pick him up, was thrilled to see someone who definitely wouldn’t be killing him for power or position, but that woman’s angry words echoed in his ears. _He is in love with you._ Len squinted more than he needed to, trying to make out Mick’s features in the beating sunshine, trying to see underneath his skin to the truth of his heart inside.

Mick wasn’t a thinker, though. He was a doer. So where Len evaluated and over-analyzed, Mick rushed forward and caught Len in a bear hug. “Good to see you, buddy,” he said, and thumped Len’s shoulder blades a few times.

That wasn’t the action of a man in love. Was it? Len’s stomach swooped like he might be sick. What had he been thinking? Why had he believed that woman? What did she get out of making Len into a fool? He smiled, covering the sudden desire to lick his heart’s wounds. To think, he’d planned to confess his own feelings! What a disaster that would have been.

“Whaddaya think?” Mick gestured expansively at the car. 

Glad for an excuse to put distance between them, Len circled the Jag. He ran a hand over its shiny, smooth paint from door to headlight. He grinned. “Looking good. Is it new?”

“Just picked it up,” said Mick, keeping everything vague for the benefit of eavesdroppers. His hands shook with excitement, though. And Len knew his partner was pleased. “Get in.”

Len opened the passenger door, and Mick leaped into the driver’s seat. This was right. Together again and driving freely away from anyone who wanted to pen them up. Fresh, fall air whipped through their short hair and into their smiling mouths. At a conservative 35 mph, Len could easily hear every word Mick said, even as he himself looked out the sides at the trees changing colors from green to gold.

“Car’s yours, you know,” Mick said. “Even though I know you won’t drive it.”

Len’s lungs fought his ribs in his chest. One lobes wanted to warm him up, pleased to get a gift and to know that Mick understood his preferences; Mick had noticed everything about Len, not just what he needed for a job. The bones couldn’t help but wonder if this was a trick; _I got you a thing, and you’re going to owe me, even if you don’t want it._

Unlike with Lewis, Len was willing to ask Mick the question. “What if I don’t want it?” he asked.

“Uhhh, well, ummm.” Mick stammered for a moment, then he gave Len all the outs he could possibly want. “Well, you don’t have to keep it. We can sell it for cash.” He bounced in his seat, hard enough to move the car, and Len looked over to see him nodding agreement with himself. “Actually, since the contraband is also the getaway vehicle, we probably should anyway. Sell it, that is. Even if I modified it a bit—”

“Mick, stop.” Len’s partner was spinning in an attempt to please Len. He wasn’t trying to weave a trap, and it was unfair of Len to let him flounder. They were partners. Len had to take care of Mick’s happiness too. “Stop,” he said again. “I love it. I love you. It’s good.”

Len’s heart raced faster than the Jag’s engine when he realized what he’d said. 

Mick’s mouth gaped open, and the car picked up speed. “You, I...” A blush rose on his cheeks, pink as the edge of a flame, and he slowed the car back down to speeds that wouldn’t get them stopped by a motocop with a radar gun. “I love you too,” he said, eyes shining.

Len barely heard the words that made everything copacetic again over the blood in his ears. _Love. Too._ Even, matched, partners. His neck heated, and he ducked his head. 

Mick’s hand closed over Len’s closest one, and he tangled their fingers together. The confession hadn’t been a mistake. When Len looked up at his partner through shielding lashes, Mick was radiant in his joy, mouth a happy bow and eyes shining. 

Maybe being the first to admit his feelings had been a bit embarrassing, but he hadn’t been worried. Not really. And never again.

“One thing,” Len said. “I’ll run the jobs from now on.” Waiting on news of Mick’s exploits had been too worrisome.

Mick squeezed his hand, then withdrew to shift gears. “You got it, boss.”

Len chased the missing touch. They held hands over the gear shift and drove at a sensible pace back towards Central City, secure in their togetherness.

**Author's Note:**

> When I decided to do Coldwave Week, it was already two weeks after the week ended, and I hadn’t given any thought to stories that would fit the themes. Of course, I decided I’d try to write a short story a day and post them vaguely together. My SO immediately laughed that “I don’t think you can write a short story in a day.” I immediately took umbrage. My SO continued, “The way I see it, you’ll outline for a day or two. Let it ruminate. Write for a day or two. Scrap half of it. Write again. Wait a week to see if it makes sense still. Quickly edit it. Then post. That’s... two weeks per story at best.” Which was totally fair really. I started my first story on 8/24/2017. We’ll see when (or if) the last one pans out.
> 
> * Finished my first story draft on 8/27 (from 8/24). So, not making the whole one-story-per-day thing.


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